


Allez

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Nyx surprises Ignis early one morning.





	Allez

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stopmopingstarthoping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/gifts).



> A second, short and sweet fill for Hope for the FFXV Holiday Gift Exchange. <3

Nyx has two very compelling reasons for not going back to sleep when a routine bout of insomnia pulls him from it, two hours before Ignis's alarm (that he set even though they have a whole weekend off together, because he’s a creature of habit who prefers to play hell with his sleep schedule in ways other than spending a lazy Saturday morning in Nyx’s bed). The first reason is that it affords Nyx the prep time to make Ignis one of his favourite breakfast dishes from Galahd, one that he re-created by taste rather than asking his mother for her recipe, because he liked the idea of it being _his_ : a baked egg dish stuffed with every herb in his spice cabinet, the most notable among them being rose petals. He’s surprised the scent of sauteing walnuts, garlic, and rose petals doesn’t wake Ignis on its own, but then again, once Ignis is truly out, he’s dead to the world until the utilitarian buzzer of the alarm from his phone.

The second reason Nyx indulges in as soon as breakfast is in the oven: he loves to watch Ignis sleep.

He can admire Ignis's dedication to his work because he plays as hard as he works. Nyx’s thoughts snap to the image of Ignis riding him last night—both palms braced on Nyx’s chest and cheeks flushed with pleasure, glasses askew on his face because he didn’t bother to take them off—and it takes several seconds of effort for Nyx to file _that_ memory away for later.

Right. Ignis. Sleeping.

Nyx, afraid to sit beside him on the bed before breakfast is ready, leans against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest—he’d had time to shower, but had been called away by the oven timer halfway through dressing. He drops his gaze to Ignis, whose normally sharp, intense features are smoothed out by the respite of sleep, ash brown bangs falling gently into his eyes, lips parted. During his waking hours, it takes a metaphorical crowbar to pry work and responsibility from his elegant fingers, but sleeping… Ignis actually looks like the 22 year old he is. Without the crisp suits and the performative shock of hair above his forehead, with every trace of tension gone from his body and face, he’s just _a man_ —albeit one Nyx treasures dearly—and sleep lends him a soft, vulnerable _humanness_ so rare otherwise.

Affection drives Nyx to take a few steps closer and risk one tender sweep of his thumb over the bump in Ignis's nose, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as the digit travels upwards. Ignis stirs slightly and smacks his lips a few times, the sound so lewd that Nyx stifles a laugh. He wants to kiss those lips, slowly and with intent, and for several heartbeats Nyx considers doing just that. However, the kitchen timer beeping in the distance calls him away before his own impulsiveness undoes his surprise.

The fact that Nyx walks into the bedroom with a slice of fragrant, seasoned _sabzi_ and a freshly brewed coffee, items arranged neatly on a battered wooden tray, at the exact moment Ignis's alarm begins to trill from his phone is a point of pride.

Ignis never lingers long in bed, and this morning proves no exception. He sits up, fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand, puts them on, and then peers blearily at Nyx with his almond shaped eyes.

“Is there a special occasion I’m unaware of?” he asks, accent crisp despite the drowsy undercurrent in the words.

“Not really. Figured today was as good a day as any to prove I do know my way around a kitchen. I’ve talked it up enough,” Nyx offers with a grin, setting the tray down over Ignis's lap once he’s stopped shifting.

The coffee mug appears in Ignis's hands as if it warped there, but his eyes drop to the tray, thin brows drawn together as he studies the _sabzi_. Nyx finds himself inexplicably charmed as Ignis picks up a fork and prods at it like a science experiment—he’s watched Ignis go through the same process often enough at restaurants to know he’s intrigued, and that makes Nyx’s pride swell even further. 

“What’s in this?” Ignis finally asks. “I can smell the parsley and scallions, and it’s clearly an egg-based dish. There’s a rather floral note I can’t quite grasp.”

“Rose petals,” Nyx declares, grin becoming a smirk as he sits near Ignis's feet. “I know you’re not one for flowers delivered to your office, but _eating_ them seems right up your alley. Also, it never hurts to pair good food with good sex. Keeps them coming back for more.”

Ignis lifts an eyebrow at Nyx, his lips curving into the more subtle version of Nyx’s unapologetic smirk. “I hardly believe you need to entice me with homemade cuisine in order to, as you say, keep me coming back for _more_ ,” he quips, and the heat in the last word tempts Nyx to forget about breakfast entirely.

But he doesn’t.

“Try it,” Nyx encourages, waving a hand at the plate in front of Ignis.

The process of Ignis trying new foods tends to be a clinical, analytical affair, full of scribbled entries into the little notebook he keeps with him and comments about various preparation techniques. So, when Ignis's eyes drift closed after his first bite and he lets out a tiny, quiet _moan_ of pleasure, Nyx figures not even the Astrals themselves can blame him for the confident grin and the upward tilt of his chin as he watches.

“That good, huh?” Nyx purrs.

The question seems to bring Ignis back to his senses. He gives a little cough and takes a long sip of his coffee before answering. “It appears you weren’t entirely exaggerating your culinary abilities. Though, I must give you credit where credit is due—thus far in our relationship, you haven’t been prone to exaggeration of _any_ of your abilities.”

Nyx laughs, quick and low, and makes a mental note to demonstrate for Ignis some of the other things he hasn’t been exaggerating. He stands, brushes a quick kiss against Ignis's cheek, and goes back to the kitchen to get his own plate and coffee. When Nyx returns, they finish breakfast together, idle chit chat about the previous week and their plans for today interwoven between mouthfuls of _sabzi_ and coffee.

Once the plates are clear, Nyx checks his watch, his eyebrows arching up in surprise when he takes note of the time.

“Ready for your second surprise?”

Ignis, ever quick on the uptake, narrows those beautiful green eyes in a calculating stare. “Why am I getting the distinct impression I’ll like this surprise far less than the first?”

Nyx chuckles and shrugs in what he hopes is a disarming way. “Well, my mother and sister will be here in fifteen minutes, and after we spend a rousing day in downtown Insomnia with them, playing their favourite game of ‘Lucian extravagance is stupid’, you can let me know what you thought?”

“Nyx Ulric, you did _not_.”

“In my defense, _you_ were the one who said you wanted to meet them, and this is the only time you have more than one day off from now until Giving Day. No time like the present.”

“Some degree of forewarning would have been appreciated,” Ignis says, but he’s smiling that secret little smile, the one he saves for when he’s truly pleased—even if he has gone two shades paler.

“I did give you warning! I gave you fifteen minutes.” Another check of his watch. “Okay, fourteen now.”

Nyx easily dodges the pillow Ignis hurls at him as he exits the bedroom, laughing.

Together, the two of them create a human whirlwind of perfunctory cleanup and dressing. Nyx doesn’t give a shit what his mother and sister think of _his_ appearance, so tugging on a vintage tee to go with his jeans and fixing his braids (the only part his mother would care about anyway) takes all of two minutes. He gets his own surprise when Ignis disappears inside the washroom and re-appears ten minutes later, immaculate as ever, down to the sparkle of his glasses and the crest of hair above his forehead. 

Best not to compliment him for it, though. It would only go to his head.

“You’ve hardly told me anything about your family other than confirming their existence. How am I supposed to navigate this encounter with insufficient information?”

“Ramuh, Ignis, it’s my mother, not a high ranking dignitary from Altissia or some ancient fossil of a Council representative. I didn’t exactly make a portfolio for you to review.”

Ignis levels a flat stare at him, and the indignation in it reminds Nyx of nothing more than a pissed-off coeurl and makes him laugh.

“The reason they call them ‘first impressions’ is by and large because they can’t be re-done,” Ignis says a bit testily, and while Nyx would normally call him out for being snappish, he can understand Ignis's nerves.

Nyx grabs Ignis by the shoulder and squeezes it affectionately. “Relax. You’ll be great because you _are_ great. I’m pretty sure my sister is already halfway in love with you just from hearing about you secondhand, so don’t get any ideas.” Nyx winks. “As for my mother, well, no promises on that front, but if it’s any consolation to you, reaching neutrality would be exceeding expectations for her.”

A rapid series of knocks sounds at the front door.

“Ready?” Nyx asks, grinning.

Ignis leans in and presses his mouth to Nyx’s, and Nyx’s eyebrows lift as Ignis parts his lips with his tongue, kissing him long and deep, one hand reaching up to grip Nyx by the forearm. When they part, Ignis looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Now I am.”


End file.
